


Quintessential Conundrum

by Agent0fChaos (wir_sind_die_Jager)



Series: Holy One-Shots, Batman! [4]
Category: Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 02:59:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8354284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wir_sind_die_Jager/pseuds/Agent0fChaos
Summary: Harley Quinn through the eyes of friends and foes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for the batfic_contest community on Livejournal back in 2008. The theme was "Enigma"

**Boxy Bennett:**

  
She was the perfect moll: Smokin' hot bod, petite, funny, charming, cute as a button, and drop dead sexy. The only flaw was that she was not with him. No. She was with _Joker_. Which was wrong on so many levels it would take an eternity for Boxy Bennett to list all of them. The clown had no idea how damn lucky he was to have a gal like Harley Quinn.  
  
Joker had sauntered into Boxy's latest speakeasy earlier that evening, Harley on his arm, taking off his purple Fedora, approving smiles all around. As if he owned the joint! That smug smirk Joker always wore made Boxy feel extra territorial, and he was about to retaliate with his more debonair wit, let the clown know this wasn't the time nor the place for a pissing contest when Harley, that sprightly little minx, eagerly threw her hand into the air, slender fingers dancing in his direction.  
  
"Heya, Boxy!" Harley called in that charmingly grating voice, causing the frown to turn upside down on Boxy's face, melting his previous anger. "How's tricks?"  
  
"Goin' good, but not half as good as a trick like you, sugar." He made for Harley, extending his arm to take her delicate hand into his when Joker roughly knocked against her, pushing her out of Boxy's reach and grabbed Boxy's hand tightly with his own two stark white hands, shaking Boxy furiously.  
  
"Boxy Bennett, how have you been, old boy? The place looks great, though I gotta say black, silver and white decor? It's so...so...so Cobblepot!" He tsked and shook his head. "Where's the color, the vibrancy? Oh, well. Can't expect everyone to have my flair for good taste." Releasing Boxy's hand from his death grip, Joker then pulled Harley by the upper arm. "Ooooh, is that roulette? I _love_ roulette!" As he dragged his hapless moll with him, Joker added with a giggle, "Too bad it's not Russian Roulette! Now there's a game!"  
  
Flexing his hand, Boxy glared after them, his thoughts returning to his polarizing opinions regarding the pair. Joker was utter scum to Harley, of course. Egotistical maniac just pushed her around like some nobody goon, kicked her in the rear, dragging her around the city making her do all of his dirty work, and more often than not, letting her take the fall! What kind of man let his woman take the fall for his screw ups? It wasn't right. _Women and children can be careless, but not men._  
  
Boxy knew how to treat a lady...he'd had plenty of them, of course. Women were delicate creatures; they needed charming, reassuring smiles, five-star restaurants, a good dance and a warm fire to curl up next to with a confident pair of arms to envelop them at night.  
  
Keeping Joker and Harley in his peripherals as he made his way over to the bar for a glass of bourbon, Boxy winced as he saw Joker at the craps table, cruelly shaking Harley off of his arm before shaking the dice in his hand and tossing them onto the game table. Perched on a barstool, Boxy turned away in disgust, forcing himself to sip on his drink rather than knock it back like he really wanted to. _Now, now, Bennett. Keep your cool. **You're** the one with true class._  
  
A deafening **BANG** jolted Boxy, sloshing his glass of liquor across the bar. Looking up he saw Joker howling with laughter as he slapped his knee while standing over the pile of wood that was the craps table.  
  
"Now that's what I call loaded dice!" He snapped his fingers at his lovely assistant. "Harley!"  
  
"Right-a-roonie, Mistah J!" Harley chirped obediently, drawing a long barreled Ruger Super Blackhawk revolver from her purse. "You all know the drill, ladies and germs: stick 'em up high and don't nobody try to be a hero!"  
  
What the hell? Boxy stood up and went for his gun, but Harley spotted him and aimed the revolver squarely at him from across the room.  
  
"Ah, ah, ah, Boxy," Harley taunted, wagging the index finger of her free hand. "I don't wanna ruin that nice suit of yours, so why dontcha just ease on back down on your tukus an' keep your hands where I can see 'em."  
  
Glaring at her as he followed her directions, Boxy slowly sat back down, keeping his hands up as he thought to himself, _Eh, who needs a nutty broad like Harley Quinn anyway?_  
  


\------

  
  
**Dr. Joan Leland:  
**   
Harley Quinn was back in her office for another round of therapy. Dr. Joan Leland had hope this time...well, she always maintained hope. She wouldn't be a very good doctor if she did not at least indulge in a little bit of impractical optimism. Harley had been in Arkham for nearly five months now, without any Joker interruptions for four, and sans Poison Ivy's influence since Ivy escaped six weeks ago. Removing those two from the equation always made Harley Quinn's rehabilitation smoother, even if she was a little down and out most of the time without her boyfriend or best friend to keep her company. Dr. Leland preferred it this way, though, as the two strongest influences in Harley's life kept her in a whirl of escapist fantasy. When they left Harley behind, removing themselves from the equation, Harley was forced to face her own troubles.  
  
"How are you feeling today, Harley?" Joan asked pleasantly when Harley was escorted to her office that afternoon.  
  
"Kinda down, doc," Harley confessed, kicking her toes against the rug. "I saw on the news that Red tried to hold up the Policemen's Ball last night. She got away an' everything but it just made me kinda nostalgic, y'know? I miss our dangerous dames days."  
  
"Tell me what you feel you get out of your friendship with Miss Isley," Joan prompted, tapping her pen against the brown leather ledger she used to keep her notes during their sessions together. She always spent so much time focusing on breaking down the Joker's grip on Harley's mind that there would be so little time left to work on Pamela Isley's stronghold before Harley would escape or seemingly become rehabilitated...only to return to her life of crime, usually with the aid of either of her loved ones.  
  
"Gosh, what a funny question," said Harley, tilting her head to the side as she pursed her red lips together in an exaggerated expression of deep thought. "I mean, she's my best friend, isn't that good enough?"  
  
"Let's think about the word friendship and what it means. Friendship is displayed with supportive and co-operative behavior between two or more individuals. That support is shown through empathy, honesty, acceptance, and respect. Friendship at its best can be altruism. Do you feel that your friendship with Pamela Isley exemplifies this?"  
  
"Sure," replied Harley reluctantly, refusing to look at her former supervisor. "Our friendship is just full of that stuff...and I would do anything for her."  
  
"Oh, I know you would," Dr. Leland said, "But do you think she gives of herself as much as you give of yourself?"  
  
Tightly pursing her lips, Harley looked down at her nervously swinging feet as her heels kicked the legs of the chair she sat in. "Red's not whatcha call a people person, y'know? She ain't much of a social butterfly like me. I can't expect her to be, and that's friendship! Accepting her for the wallflower she is."  
  
"You would define Poison Ivy as a wallflower?" asked Dr. Leland, carefully saying her words one at a time to make sure Harley fully understood the question and the doubt in her voice.  
  
"Sure! Through all that huffin' and puffin' about hatin' people I bet Red's just a big ol' shy violet waitin' for someone to love and care for her."  
  
"You bet?" Joan repeated. "As in, you're unsure?"  
  
"Well," Harley replied, deflated. "She doesn't 'xactly let anyone see that side of her."  
  
"Not even you, her best friend?"  
  
Clearly agitated now, Harley shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she replied, sputtering her words defensively. "I-I-I've never really been good at makin' friends with other girls. We're complicated creatures, y'know. Boys were always just easier to understand and deal with...there wasn't much to 'em because they're upfront with who they are an' don't do a lot of two facin'. " Harley tittered. "Except for Two-Face, of course." Falling silent with a downward face, Harley looked as if she were trying to sort out her thoughts before speaking again. "Red's just got one of those strong, independent type personalities and she don't like to be weak. There's nothin' wrong with that."  
  
"Have you always been attracted to strong personalities in female friendships, Harley?"  
  
Harley shrugged. "Well, sure. Who doesn't want a best gal pal who'll stick up for you or pummel some guy who's hassling ya?" Harley twisted her mouth before leaning forward and adding in a loud whisper, "And just between you an' me, doc, sometimes I need to be told what's what when it comes to Mistah J." Harley threw up her hands defensively. "Not that he doesn't love me, of course! But sometimes Red helps me, y'know, put things into perspective." Sitting back in her chair, Harley chewed on her bottom lip, looking guilty as if by admitting this she had somehow betrayed her man.  
  
Inwardly, Joan sighed and felt slightly defeated by the subtleties of Harley's body language. Second guessing her relationship with the Joker always brought on these bouts of guilt and anxiety during Harley's rehabilitation therapy, and Dr. Leland often devoted weeks to alleviating her patient of these nonsensical concerns, spending hours at a time reassuring Harley that there would be no chalk white fist ready to strike her down should she admit to some vague inkling of doubt.  
  
"Like you," Harley suddenly said.  
  
"Pardon?" Joan asked, coming out of her reverie.  
  
"You're a strong, super smart, super duper independent lady." Shrugging again, Harley said, "I guess that's why I wanted to be your friend so badly when I first met you during my interview for the residency position here at Arkham years back."  
  
The admission took Joan by surprise. She had never guessed that the budding young psychiatrist was ever pushing for more than amiable professional relationship. Had Harleen Quinzel been reaching out to her, even before her catastrophic encounter with the Joker? Dr. Leland was ashamed to realize that she could not recall, and now she felt failure well in her heart. Harley had wanted a friend. _A friend who needed my help,_ Joan thought despairingly.  
  
And now Harley continued to seek out strong-willed, autonomous personalities, someone to take Harley under their wing as she should have done. What would have happened had she reached out to Harley from the get go, really looked closely at the eager resident and extended that hand of camaraderie? Would she have been able to...no, as a professional psychiatrist Dr. Leland could not even entertain these thoughts. It was wishful thinking, besides which, there is no point dwelling on yesterday. Smiling apologetically at her employee turned patient, Joan replied with the utmost sincerity.  
  
"I'm sorry we missed our chance, Harley."  
  


\-----

  
  
**Scarecrow:  
**   
"How ya doin' Professor Crane?" Harley asked cheerfully as she sat opposite him at a table in the common room at Arkham. Scarecrow looked up from his magazine and smiled.  
  
"Well, child, thank you for asking." He then sighed dramatically. "Honestly, though, I am desperately craving for my glory days." He raised the magazine to show her he was reading a psychiatric journal.  
  
"Ya mean when you were gassing out the student body over at G.U.?" asked Harley in all sincerity, her wide smile so out of place in the dreary room.  
  
"No," Crane chuckled condescendingly. "When I was _teaching_ them."  
  
"Ohhhh," Harley replied as if the answer should have been obvious. Smacking herself on the forehead she nodded and added, "Duh, I knew that!" They fell quiet, Jonathan Crane going back to his magazine as Harley's eyes roved around the common room, crossing and uncrossing for her own amusement. "I thought you didn't like your students, Professor."  
  
"Oh, well," Crane said, clearing his throat. "True, the greater populace of those who stumbled into my class carried more in their denim pockets than they did their heads, but every so often I would be blessed with a student so incandescent with intelligence that it made my time and efforts worthy of wading through a sea of vapid stupidity, if only to pluck this exemplary shining star from the cretins that would hold them down and set it free." Crane sighed forlornly and Harley sat, rapt with attention, her head resting on her fists.  
  
"That was beautiful, Professor Crane."  
  
Trying his best to appear modest in her appreciation of him, the former professor smiled at the young blonde before returning to his magazine.  
  
"Whatcha reading about?" Harley asked, craning her neck out though the magazine was upside down to her. "Oh, neuropsychiatry! Nifty."  
  
"Yes," replied Crane absently, figuring Harley would have no interest in the matter. "It's an editorial piece written by Oliver Sacks debating the pros and cons of maintaining the practice or keeping them separate entities."  
  
Nodding, Harley leaned on one arm and curled a finger in a single blond pigtail, twirling the ends as she spoke. "We-l-l-l, PET scans have, like, totally failed to find any clinically significant differences in the brains of, y'know, normal people," Harley made air quotes added with a dramatic eye roll "an' those diagnosed with a wide variety of psychiatric disorders." She flashed Scarecrow a toothy grin as she spun her other index finger around, indicating the room and its inhabitants. "I mean, the argument can be made, and even though it's kinda iffy results totally exist to prove that some illness may have an organic basis, overall research indicates that current neurophysical knowledge is, like, way incapable of determinin' a precise cause for most psychiatric dysfunction." Harley's smile widened. "That Sacks guy? He sells a lotta books, but he ain't a psychiatrist and his theories have consistently proven impossible to verify in controlled studies."  
  
Gobsmacked, Jonathan Crane just stared at this bubbly young woman before him. He had no idea Harley possessed such knowledge...he had always assumed she barely scraped by during her time at Gotham University. She certainly never let on about any sort of interest in her former profession, and Crane thought any knowledge she may have retained from her years at college was emptied out and replaced with whatever the Joker told her to think. Could it be that Harley Quinn, air headed assistant and moll to the Joker, was actually more than she appeared to be? She always seemed to be bursting out willy-nilly with emotion, wearing her entire being openly as one would an article of clothing. What an intricate puzzle this effervescent young creature was turning out to be; it was as if all of the corner pieces had been connected and every other piece was suddenly falling into place.  
  
Sniffing the air, Harley rigidly sat up and said, "Hey, you smell that, Professor?" Inhaling deeply, Harley's face took on an expression of rapture. "We're havin' tacos tonight!" Rapidly applauding, Harley excitedly bounced in her chair, her pigtails bobbing up and down. "Goody, goody gumdrops!"  
  
_Then again,_ thought Scarecrow as he shook his head with a dismissive smile on his face. _Maybe more along the lines of connect the dots._  
  


\-----

  
  
**Jim Gordon:  
**   
_How could any decent father let his daughter turn out this way?_  
  
Jim Gordon was standing outside the Gotham Museum of Contemporary Art where he had responded to a robbery call. It turned out to be more than the usual vandals, out to pinch priceless art to sell on the black market. The culprit turned out to be Harley Quinn in one of her rare solo heists. She fought his men and women in blue tooth and nail, with a desperate frenzy that Gordon had never seen before. When they subdued her she began to make a scene.  
  
"You don't understand!" Harley wailed as Officer Montoya slapped handcuffs on her. "There's a Punch and Judy tribute here an' I _gotta_ get it for Mistah J's birthday! He'll love it!"  
  
"You'll just have to send him a card from Arkham," Renee said as she placed Harley in the back of her car, safer there than letting the clown girl sit on the sidewalk as they waited for Arkham's response team to arrive and pick up the former psychiatrist. Leaning against the car, Gordon cast a saddened glance at the kooky Miss Quinn, who was making faces at all of the police officers passing by.  
  
_She was somebody's baby,_ Jim observed. Someone cared for her, raised her and believed in her enough to nurture her through Olympic level gymnastics. She went to college and became a doctor! She wanted to help people! Someone just had to have been supportive of her ambition...  
  
"Hey, Gordo!" Harley chirped as she plastered her face against the window, smashing her face and rubbing her makeup all over the glass as she made a fierce growling expression. "Lookit me! BATSPLAT!"  
  
Her silliness only further pained him. _Where was her father when she graduated from Gotham University?_ Was he in the audience, his eyes brimming with tears of paternal pride? Did he help her pick out her first apartment, teach her how to file her taxes, show her how to change a flat tire? Didn't this man, this unknown Daddy Quinzel prepare his little girl for the world she was about to enter into?  
  
_People should be screened before bringing an innocent child into this world,_ Gordon thought bitterly, instantly chastising himself for being so cynical.  
  
"You know," Harley said to him as she stretched out across the back seat, putting her tiny feet against the window, smearing the rubbed off face paint in a circular motion. "You oughta be proud of yourself, Gordo! Your blue sheep caught me without any help from Batman!"  
  
You oughta be proud of yourself.  
  
Yes, he was proud of himself. Against the odds in a city riddled with crime he had brought up a bright, confident, self-sufficient young woman who saw that lost girls like Harley Quinn found their way back to the only home that would now accept them...Arkham Asylum. And what of Harley's seemingly promising career there anyway? Jim wondered. Where the hell was her father when his daughter started slipping into madness? Though to Jim and most everyone else Harley's transformation from ambitious doctor to loony criminal seemed overnight, he knew damn well by now that there had to have been signs. Signs that the people closest to her should have seen, should have sent up a screaming red flag that made them jump in harm's way before the impact hit.  
  
_And did it ever it hit hard,_ thought Gordon darkly as he watched Harley bob her head from side to side as she sang the chorus of _I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts_ over and over.  
Then the crushing reality hit Gordon as he forced himself to think the unbearable thought. _Maybe there was no one to protect her._ Maybe she was alone, and her ambition and support was completely self-driven. Perhaps she had to fight tooth and nail with parents who did not want to see the years of hard training and personal sacrifice go to waste so that their Harleen could chase what they possibly deemed a passing fancy. Did they turn her backs on her then? Or was the final door slammed when they saw their daughter on the morning news after she had freed her patient, The notorious Joker, from Arkham and joined him as his adoring Bonnie?  
  
There was no telling how it all came to be, or where Mr. and Mrs. Quinzel might be now. Much like Harley Quinn herself, the hand her parents played or the ball they dropped in their daughter's descent into madness was a crime in and of itself that Commissioner Jim Gordon knew would remained unsolved.  
  


\------

  
  
**Poison Ivy:**  
  
Poison Ivy watched her best friend turn over her worn army green messenger bag, jammed packed with clothes and random odds and ends.  
  
"I mean it this time, Red," Harley said for the umpteenth time, angrily dumping out her items onto Ivy's bed. "Mistah J went too far. I'm not going back."  
  
"Uh huh," Ivy replied dubiously, arms folded as she leaned against the doorway. "Where have I heard that before?"  
  
"You weren't there!" Harley cried, thrusting an accusatory fluffy pink sweater in Ivy's direction. "You didn't see the way he looked at this bimbo, or heard the way he talked to her..." Harley's bottom lip trembled and her eyes welled with tears. "Especially when he called her pumpkin...and told me to buzz off and make myself useful."  
  
"So you marched right back to your hideout, packed your bag, and came over here?" Ivy finished for Harley. It was same old, same old to Poison Ivy, who was tired of her friend's roller coaster love life.  
  
"Not exactly," replied Harley as she used her sleeve to wipe away the collecting mucus and tears from her face. "I tried to do as he said and make myself useful...but I forgot Mistah J doesn't really care for my cooking."  
  
"Cooking? What were you two doing, holding up a restaurant?" Ivy found most of Joker's schemes hard to follow...but then again, it was the Joker.  
  
"No, we were home...that man stealin' hussy was _supposed_ to be our hostage but ohhhh no. She wanted to be fed and Mistah J suddenly wasn't gonna let our guest go hungry! Guest, he called her our guest! Can you believe that, Red?"  
  
"Not a single word, Harl." The sarcasm oozed from her luscious lips. It was a mystery to Ivy why she continued to let Harley pull her into these increasingly trivial interactions, pathetic displays of human foibles. However, Ivy's snark and irritation went over Harley's head as she was too agitated to notice.  
  
"So then I threw in a couple of microwave dinners for them but was that good enough for them?" Harley threw her arms into the air dramatically. "Noooooo," she cried, waving her hands before placing them firmly on her hips. "How was I to know the plastic trays were gonna melt like that?" She rolled her eyes before turning back to her belongings scattered about on Ivy's bed, prodding them disinterestedly. "Anyway, that's when I grabbed whatever I could and snuck out the back."  
  
"You mean you didn't even tell Joker you had enough and were leaving?"  
  
Shrugging, Harley replied, "Who cares? He has a new girlfriend now."  
  
_Ridiculous,_ Ivy thought as she forced herself to play the sympathetic friend, lying across the head of her bed and folded a piece of Harley's clothing, hoping the blonde would take the hint and clean up after herself. It worked and Harley started to slowly fold her meager wardrobe, silent save for the sniffling.  
  
Looking up at her best friend, her only friend, Ivy could not help but feel dragged along the same roller coaster Harley was riding with the Joker, sitting alone in the cart behind them with a severe frown and her arms tightly crossed. How a woman of modern times could be repeatedly led down the path of an abusive, broken relationship was beyond her. One betrayal by a man had been enough for Pamela Isley, and she had learned her lesson well from it. Why couldn't Harley do the same? This wasn't their grandmother's era of American society when women were raised to be a subservient ball and chain, cowering in the shadow of their masculine superiors.  
  
"So what's next for the queens of crime, Red?" Harley asked in a considerably chipper voice as she threw herself belly down onto the bed, hugging her clothes under her head like a pillow.  
  
"Are you kidding? You're on probation; I'm not planning anything with you until I know that you've really left the Joker. For good this time."  
  
"Aw, c'mon, Red!" Harley pleaded, sitting up rigidly. "What do I gotta do to prove to you that I'm serious this time?"  
  
Before Ivy could answer, a rattling noise came from the front room, startling them. Cautiously making her way into the living room, Ivy saw the doorknob to her front door jiggling ferociously. Then it stopped and was replaced by a knocking sequence to the tune of shave and a haircut. Narrowing her eyes, Ivy glared at the door.  
  
"Oh, Pammy," came Joker's sing-song mocking voice. "I believe you have something of mine."  
  
"You want to prove you're serious?" Ivy called to Harley. "Answer the door and tell that chauvinistic pig once and for all what's what."  
  
Screwing up her little face in an expression of strong willed determination, Harley got up and marched over to the front door, throwing it open and jabbing the Joker squarely in the chest.  
  
"Listen here, clown! I don't appreciate the way you been treatin' me lately! Seein' as how you got yourself a new girl I'm hittin' the road for good this time an' I ain't lookin' back so you might as well just turn around and march right on outta here!"  
  
"New girl?" Joker repeated confusedly. "What in Sam Hill are you talking about, pumpkin?"  
  
"Don't you pumpkin me! You know darn tootin' who I'm talkin' about! That floozy you have stashed at our – I mean – your hideout, who was supposed to be a hostage but I guess her womanly charms were just too much for you to resist."  
  
"What...?" Joker's expression went from puzzlement to pure hysterics as he slapped his knee and howled with laughter. "Hoo, baby, you really surprise me sometimes with that odd little brain of yours."  
  
_Odd little brain?_ Ivy mentally grumbled as she huffed directly behind Harley. _What the hell could any self-respecting woman see in this jerk?_  
  
"Whaddya mean?" Harley asked with a pout.  
  
"Well, that's what I've been trying to tell you pooh! I disposed of that girl hours ago and when I turned around you were gone!"  
  
"You mean...you want me back?"  
  
"Well just who else is going to feed the hyenas and give me food poisoning with her valiant but feeble attempts in the kitchen?" Joker opened his arms and Harley gleefully leapt into them, squealing in delight.  
  
"Why do I even bother?" Ivy muttered to herself.  
  


\------

  
  
**Batman:  
**   
Feeling the sigh turn into a low emitting growl, Batman watched Harley Quinn being held down by several Arkham orderlies as they pried her away from the Joker, who was unconscious on the sidewalk being tended to by paramedics. Their latest scrap had taken a near fatal turn for the Clown Prince of Crime when he decided to leap off the fire escape rather than continue to duke it out with the Dark Knight. He had tried to use Harley as a cushion but when he went to grab her arm he lost his footing and slipped solo.  
  
"My angel's been pummeled by that nasty Bat for the last time!" Harley shouted. "I'm gonna bring out the big guns, Batman, you just wait! I'll sue!"  
  
Unlike most of his rogue's gallery, Harley Quinn did not inspire rage within him. She inspired continual disappointment. There was not a question in his mind that Harley did not know what she was doing every time she went back to the Joker, that on some level of consciousness knew she might not survive the life he carved out for her. Why she continued to subject herself to Joker's chaotic madness was beyond him.  
  
There were moments when Batman had hope for her, albeit it always came with a grain of salt. Unlike his other foes, Harley's crimes were quite dependent on either Joker or Poison Ivy prompting her interest. Should the Ace of Knaves and Ms. Isley be removed from Harley's life during one of her many incarcerations at Arkham Asylum, Harley's chances of rehabilitation vastly improved. She even tried it once or twice, though Batman had to catch her when she fell off the proverbial horse.  
  
Speaking of which...it struck him as odd, even downright puzzling that whenever she was in trouble, Harley Quinn ran to him like the victims of the capers she committed with her partners in crime. It had started out as a ruse, when she had almost beat him by her lonesome, Batman foiling her by using Quinn's insecurities regarding the Joker against her. Maybe something had transpired between them, in her mind anyway. When she realized he had unveiled the Joker's lies. He had chastised her then, but in truth, she had his sympathies. How could anyone believe such blatant falsehoods, especially a clinical psychiatrist?  
  
"Hey, watch the goods!" Harley snapped as she was buckled into a straight jacket down to her hips. "Mistah J isn't gonna take too kindly to you manhandlin' me...when he wakes up, that is."  
  
_Then again,_ Batman thought as his vision narrowed in on the clown's unconscious form on the gurney. Joker was her undoing and he was the father of lies as far as Batman was concerned. The madman knew how to twist the human mind and soul like no other and those unsuspecting were helpless to his sick games. Seeking Batman out when in need of true protection made Batman wonder if somewhere in Harley's befuddled brain, she comprehended that he had her best interests in mind. Yes, Gotham came first, but his personal vow to handle each and every single one of Gotham's enemies like sharply pointed breakables surely must have penetrated some deep unconscious understanding within Harley. This is why every time Harley took those hesitant but determined steps towards rehabilitation, Batman could not help but feel a pang of personal failure when she slipped backwards.  
  
And yet, why did she do it? It aggravated him to know that despite her moments of clarity, recognizing him as a figure to turn to, Harley Quinn still chose her life with Joker above all else. What was the allure? She claimed it was love, but Batman did not buy into this. There had to be a deeper cause, perhaps one so buried Harley no longer remembered it, if she ever knew it at all. It came to him then like most of his realizations, not with an abrupt gasp but with a despairing sigh.  
  
Harley Quinn always projected an image of mirth and merriment, a carefree spirit free to dance about the stage Gotham often provided for the terrorist acts brought on by the Joker. Batman had always assumed, believed even, that this was a mask she wore. Now he knew it was not. She was carefree, light as a feather and her pleasure in her life with Joker was genuine because ultimately, she was free from the terrible obligation of reality.  
  
Any child could tell that fantasy was preferable to the abject coarseness of reality, and Harley Quinn personified this childlike train of thought. It was easier for her to take whatever Joker doled out for her than it was to live life in the doldrums of sanity and rational thinking, easier to continue to don the harlequin outfit than it was to wear the label of law-abiding citizen.  
  
"Well, could ya at least tell me where I can send some flowers an' a get well card? Hey!" The doors to the van were shut in her face and the weary orderlies climbed into the cab, prepared to haul another escaped butterfly back to the net.  
  
It wasn't an excuse for her many crimes, but Batman could not help the tiniest inkling of pity for the daft ex-psychiatrist as he watched the Arkham van drive off into the night. If she continued to hold onto this warped sense of existence, Harley Quinn could never hope to find a life outside the walls of Arkham, the clutches of Joker, or the depths of her own madness. And though she continued to be an unfathomable creature, Batman knew he would always remain in the shadows, waiting and watching for Harley Quinn to make her next move, either against him, or towards him.

**Author's Note:**

> "Women and children can be careless, but not men." is a direct quote from the movie The Godfather.


End file.
